Excuse Me, You Have A Giant Piece Of Greenery Wrapped Around Your Tooth
I spent a good 15 minutes of Sunday’s 60 minute sermon focused on a woman’s head in front of me. She had her hair up in a banana clip (I know! But apparently those are making a comeback right along with scrunchies, Heaven save us all), but she’d missed a large chunk on the right side and it was hanging down her back.
And by focused I mean I spent 15 minutes imagining myself tucking that chunk of hair right back up into that banana clip. It’s a good thing she was a few rows up, because I could feel my hand twitching and I don’t know what I would’ve done if she was within touching distance. I’d probably be looking for a new church again.
I’m the kind of person that will tell you if your skirt is stuck in your underwear, if you have ink on your face or if you have noticeable wax build-up in your ear. I’ve even pushed wayward tags back into clothing without asking. Which I admit, may be going a bit too far, but I just can’t help myself. It’s all because, if I was in the same situation, I’d want someone to tell ME.
If I have a hair hanging out of my nose, please tell me.
If my zipper is down, please tell me. (A HUGE shout-out to Mel for doing this very thing at BlogHer, after I’d paraded my pants past a dozen tables full of women sitting with eyes at Underwear Peephole Level who didn’t say a thing.)
If my mascara is smudged underneath my eyes making me look dead, if my socks don’t match (or shoes, for that matter, which has already happened twice this year), or if I have food crusted to the front of my shirt, or stuck in my teeth, please tell me!
And I will do the same for you.
And I’m going to work on the telling before helping part.